


Draco Malfoy and the Muggle Poet

by i_amtheoutlaw



Series: Draco Malfoy [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Draco Malfoy-centric, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-22
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2019-05-27 03:02:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15015221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_amtheoutlaw/pseuds/i_amtheoutlaw
Summary: Draco Malfoy has an eventful summer between his first and second year at Hogwarts. He learns lies and truths about his parents and Godfather. He allies himself with a few unlikely partners. By the time his second year starts, Draco is ready to face Potter, the Dragon, and his destiny once more.Featuring deviation, house elf acting school, Draco's teddy bear, a cunning Mrs. Malfoy, and a loving but still evil Mr. Malfoy.





	1. Severus Snape's Game

**Author's Note:**

> Finally here. Updates will be weekly.

In the summer following his first year at Hogwarts, Draco became more familiar with the woods behind his manor - meaning he was no longer afraid to look out the white gallery windows during the daytime. He also spent a lot of time studying, when he was not in the mood to practice Occlumency against his own parents or chat with one of Owen's many portraits. The rest of his time was spent in solitude, pursuing Snape’s poem, dancing, or chasing after puny birds on his broom. True to the vow he'd made at the leaving feast, Draco planned to do everything he could to make Harry Potter’s life a living hell which, of course, included keeping Potter alive and beating him at every quidditch match in the next six years.

However, Draco could not practice flying _too_ much . . . Jean, the best private dance instructor the Wizarding World had ever seen, just wouldn’t have it. Quidditch required a lot of intensive muscle, you see, whereas ballet required a body full of limber ones. Trying to develop both at once was nearly impossible, and ballet was painful enough, thank you very much. Draco wasn’t about to harm his own body over Harry bloody Potter. Neither had he even considered quitting ballet, not when he could finally wear his pointe slippers for twenty minutes of each lesson. 

The first time Draco had lunch with his parents upon his return, his mother had paused him mid-bite by asking him how he’d liked his birthday presents.

“I thought . . .” drawled Draco, slowly, “we decided to postpone my party until I was home.”

“Of course,” his father had given him an odd look. “But did you really believe your mother would not send a little something for you?”

Draco had only blinked. He had been unconscious for his birthday, he’d realized this on the train when Pansy asked him if he’d truly enjoyed her present. 

Although, to Draco’s knowledge, he had no new items. Em had probably stolen them, Draco had figured. Or ate all of it. The bastard was turning out like a younger version of Snape or something. Draco had not liked this revelation one bit. 

“It was lovely,” he’d replied with a soft smile in her direction, completely dishonest and hating it. “Delightful truly.”

“Well . . .” his mother’s smile had been just as little. “I am glad you liked them, my dear.”

“And now that you are home,” his father had added. “We can begin to plan your _real_ party. I was thinking charmed-purple peacocks, an ice-sculpture or two, and flaming duck. I know how you love duck--”

“I want my own recital,” Draco had blurted and then snapped his mouth shut.

His father had frowned at him for a bit too long, but replied, “You know I will make that happen, son.”

Draco had smiled, and suddenly missing his actual birthday hadn’t seemed so bad. He’d proceeded to smile as he’d finish his meal, and the attribute had stayed until he fell asleep much later.

A few days into his summer, Draco stumbled upon a room in his manor which he'd never seen before. Malfoy Manor was ginormous, and Draco had steadily accepted the fact that he may never really know everything about his own home, fluid as it was. If you asked Draco, it was still better than Hogwarts, and he also had a map of the manor which he added to every time something new popped up to remind of where not to lurk. Draco believed this particular room he found to be one of his ancestor’s secret chambers, thinking it looked a lot like one of his father’s but greyer. He also thought that he’d visited _all_ of his parent’s secret rooms. His mother had secret cabinets in the west wing and his father had two hidden galleries in the north wing and some smaller chambers scattered throughout.

Draco should have known better. 

Since Draco had yet to return to a man of leisure, he found himself extremely bored at this point in the summer, and the room seemed non-threatening so he spared some of his time to have a look inside. Draco didn’t understand why but the next day he went back, even knowing he risked his father’s wrath. The day after that, Draco was in the room tearing through drawers like a mad wizard and found an alluring journal . He decided to take it because he admired the vintage binding and had a random notion to start his own Hogwarts journal this year. Draco supposed maybe one day he could give it to his own child. Which was weird, considering he had never thought of having his own kids. 

Four days later, when Draco was writing in the garden, his father approached but froze for a long moment and scrutinized the journal in Draco’s hands. The look on his father's face was more than enough to snap Draco out of whatever stupor he’d been in and alert him to the enormous size of his own cock up. 

Wide eyed, Draco instantly stood, threw the journal to the ground and, with a horrified huff, began to wipe his hands on the damp grass. "What have I done?" he shrieked, hoping he wasn’t about to die slow and horribly.

His father blinked, face returning to a calm mask, but his father was never too good at guarding his eyes . . . or so Draco’s mother had always said, and Draco was starting to understand what she meant. Snapping out his wand, Draco’s father banished the journal to somewhere else before taking a deep breath and pulling Draco into a tight hug. Draco was speechless and tense with confusion and didn't hug back, but his father didn't seem to care. When Draco finally worked out that he wasn't about to get his arse stung for the next three weeks straight, he weakly returned his father's embrace. 

It felt so odd for some reason, and Draco was soon distracted trying to remember the last time he'd hugged his father. He knew he had before yet couldn't remember the last time. Before he'd even noticed that time had passed his father had pulled away and studied Draco's face with serious eyes. 

"Draco." His father’s quiet voice sounded broken for some reason.

"Yes, father?"

His father only sighed and guided Draco back on the bench. They sat in silence for a moment before his father broke it. 

"Draco, do you remember that time you knocked your two front teeth out and we had to . . . lie to your mother about what had happened?"

As the seriousness of this conversation overcame him, Draco widened his eyes but nodded, because he did remember. He would never forget that awful night, or the only horrible lie he had ever told his mother. Draco’s father had been worried his mother would leave him if she ever found out how that had happened. Draco had thought his father was being ridiculous but agreed nonetheless because his father certainly knew her better than Draco did. 

"This. This is worse than that, son, we can never let her find out about this or she may very well kill me." There was not a thing in his father's voice besides pure sincerity and this tone always sent a chill down Draco's spine. Surely his mother wouldn't . . ? _Couldn’t_ . . ? His father continued a moment later. "If she did not . . . I still fear you and I would never speak again."

“She couldn’t . . . _surely_?”

“Not legally, no.”

"You are serious?" 

His father nodded sharply. 

"I will never let her find out," Draco promised.

His father eyed him for a moment. "No, I suppose you would not," he said at last, and continued to stare strangely at Draco. 

"Never let me find out what?" 

His mother's cold voice announced her arrival. The flowers died as she approached them, but they always did that. 

"Nothing, dear." His father smiled, and Draco copied him. “If Draco wanted to talk to you about it, he would have.”

Two days later Draco started to think someone (most-likely suspect being his father) had slipped him some Felix Felicis when his mother still hadn't confronted him about it. Draco shook his head to clear it of those thoughts, smoothed out the parchment before him and got back to work. 

_My color is red like blood_

_I taste like what grows out of mud_

_Once I am complete_

_Is known the next feat_

_Scales and snails_

_Give no tales_

_So do I?_

The third day found Draco still beating down his own nervous energy with Snape’s poem, though he knew he was closer than ever to solving it. Draco was sitting on a stool reading over the words for the thousandth time when he decided to give up and turn to his mother’s methods. It was not guilt making him do it, either.

Draco had finally had a breakthrough with the potion from Snape’s game the day prior - he’d narrowed the key down to three potions. They all glowed green before the last ingredient was added then turned blood red, and none of them had any kind of fish or insect ingredients, though all were made with many natural ingredients that would give the potion an earthy taste. 

He’d spent the past three days tucked away in his potions lab - his “play” room had been easily cleaned out and converted. After he and Linky dumped all his old junk in one of the endless closets, that was. Besides Bear. 

Bear, Draco’s darling, plush little bear, would always be welcomed. He could admit to needing the company, because Linky was terrible to have around while working on potions. Bear was very quiet and always still when Draco was working . . . and work did he. Draco slaved for hours at a time (sometimes). Many of those hours were spent reading. Draco felt as if he’d read so many different potion texts he would piss out ingredients. Still, he was _not_ guilty, he was just a _little_ nervous his mother would discover their secret.

Draco’s first plan had been to mimic the potion. He’d looked up all potions that glowed green during brewing which he could find. Then Draco narrowed the results down by eliminating those which lost luminescence or potential after left sitting for too long. His potion was still loud and bright months later. 

This narrowed his choices down greatly and Draco decided maybe the name of the potion was a pun or something, but the closest he could come up with was "Nimble Sole" which required an ingredient named “essence of lead.” Draco then was scared to try any of the three replicas he’d brewed, because it was just like his godfather to make the box self-destructible upon one failure. 

It was time to consult the leaves, Draco told himself again, and tried to ignore the pull in his gut when he thought of his mother. He grimaced but began to ready his mind, still absently wondering if his new skills in Occlumency would aid or hinder his Divination talent. Draco knew that he couldn't be thinking about failure though. He had to be positive that this cup of disgusting leaves was about to grant him the knowledge he needed. Draco could deem them revolting, but he couldn't opine them vacuous; that had been his mother's first ever Divination lesson. 

Draco prepared his mix and warmed the kettle over his cauldron fire. He invited Linky in when the water was nearly boiling, and she transfigured a table and chairs for herself, Draco, and Bear to sit around. Draco didn't even need to remind her for their customary cups and carefully divided the crushed leaves into each when they appeared on the table. 

The kettle went off and Draco poured hot water in all three cups, carefully placing the saucer on top of his and Bear's tea for safe steeping; he was confident that Linky could handle her own at this point. A few minutes later he replaced them under the cups and gave both of their teas a dash of sugar, swirling with his spoon just once in each while thinking about the glowing green potion and the lockbox.

Then Draco pulled out his latest in the Auror Pendragon Series and began to read aloud. He didn't pause until he had drunk nearly all his own tea. He marked his page and thought once more of the potion and lockbox before he placed the saucer on top of his cup and spun it around four times. He let the mess settle and began to read again, starting on Bear's tea as he did so this time. He repeated the process for Bear's cup when he’d finished that one, and then pushed the book aside completely in favor of gazing in his original cup. 

There was a knife, triangular, right down the center and halfway up the side. Draco doubted that was meant for his potion and tried to ignore it. Then, clear as day among an assortment of little specks, was one clumpy Neptune. 

Draco would need to add the "Eye of Newt" then. He couldn't doubt it for a second, he was right. There was not one path of solid reasoning behind his choice, he just knew. 

He reached for Bear's cup next, but he couldn't see anything besides blobs, indicating too much mugwort in this brew. Draco would have to wait until it dried more to get a clear reading. He helped Linky decode hers and then left to try and prefect the potion.

He added in the last ingredient, following the directions to let simmer until it changed from green to red. 

Draco vialed the potion and had Linky bring him the box. He poured the potion in the key hole and waited. Moments passed and then there was a silent puff of smoke and the box sprang open. Once the smoke cleared, Draco was disappointed to see that there was only a single book inside. It didn't even look too ancient or powerful, just plain, clean black leather bound. Draco read the note attached. 

_I'm not saying good job because this took you much too long and you're a brat._

_Remember, it will be your head, not mine, if your father were to discover this prize._

Draco hissed and had Linky burn the note to the land of the dead (he’d had his fill of forbidden books, thanks). Draco then placed the lockbox under his bed and the book in Linky's keeper, too angry that he'd wasted so much of his precious summertime slaving for a bloody book to even think about reading it. Instead he returned to his potions lab to check on the leaves, hoping there would be something interesting in Bear’s reading this time. 

Draco strode purposely over and picked the cup up, but still did not see much. He turned it over in his hands, right then left, and gasped as he suddenly saw the only symbol there; belatedly he realized he'd dropped the cup entirely. Linky saved it from crashing to the floor and hovered it back to the table.

She stood on a chair, so she could gaze in it. "What be it, master Draco?" she asked. 

"A snake," Draco said, his mouth suddenly dry. He knew that snakes could be good signs sometimes; mostly when they were stretched across the edge of a cup though, circular in shape. This snake was coiled many times yet stretched across the center. Its head was at the very bottom of the cup, the largest chunk of mugwort, sticking up and basically hissing at him.

Draco shouted at Linky to finish cleaning up and ran to dig through all his old notes boxed under his bed. He found what he was looking for nearly at the bottom. His original list of symbols. He hadn't needed to use it in what felt like years. 

Draco skipped straight to snake and quickly scanned the small paragraph underneath. 

_Dark. Bad omen. Distrust. Loss of loyalty in close ones. Immortality._

That night Draco made sure to have Linky grab Bear from his lab and bring her to their room before the lumos went out.


	2. Pas de Deux

Draco was _horrified_ , there was no other word for it. He hadn’t been this utterly incapable of anything since Harry Potter had . . . well, since he’d met bloody Potter.

A few days had passed since the Coiled-Snake-Incident in the purple potions lab and Draco was grateful for the distraction of Jean arranging an extra lesson for him to attend. Although, when Jean had told him she was taking on another student, Draco had naturally assumed it would be some nameless French witch, like always.

But it was Granger, and Draco was wearing his ~~pink~~ pale stockings. 

“ _Malfoy_?!” To Draco’s immense relief, Granger was looking just as horrified as Draco felt - and she was wearing something almost as revealing and much tighter. 

“Oh, you two know each other?” drawled Jean, smirking. 

“My father will not have this,” Draco spat, rushing off to find his bag and boots and floo his mother. 

Jean stopped him with a wave of her wand, his feet suddenly stuck to the floor. “Talk it out, boy,” she instructed. “I do not like quitters.”

She strode away, and Draco was free. He turned to glare at Granger, only to find her still blinking at him, red as a tomato. She’d somehow managed to slick all her bushy hair into a smart looking bun. The sight was distracting. 

“Granger?” Draco snapped out.

“Mal-Malfoy.” Draco rolled his eyes, but she peaked his interest when she continued. “You _cannot_ tell anyone.” 

Oh . . . Draco thought about that for about two seconds. “Deal,” he said, arms going akimbo. 

Granger took a step back like the word had forced her to do it. A sign of a dark sale thought Draco, smugly. She swallowed before she spoke again. 

“You wear pointe?” she eyed the slippers in Draco’s hand and he nodded. “I just got my first pair about a week ago. It is why I decided to look for a wizarding instructor. When I’d read that dancers can start en pointe as early as ten with the right healing spells,” she elaborated. 

“Well, come on then,” Draco sighed falling to the floor to put his own slippers on. He explained some things as he laced them up. “I will show you the routine first. We’ll have you in your toe slippers after warmups, though I am still far from full time, so we will switch soon after that. Do not worry about long term damage. You are right in assuming that spells will sort you out. However, that is no reason to over exert yourself, Granger, like you are wont to do, I’m sure. Jean will not tolerate it though. You will be cut loose, understand?”

Granger nodded, and Draco stood, gesturing toward the barre. 

Granger eyed the door Jean had left through. “Shouldn’t we wait--”

“She needs her rest,” Draco hissed. “Is that going to be a problem? Because I _always_ handle the stretching and other basics. For _all_ her clients younger than I. Well, obviously not when I was at school, but--”

Draco broke off, and failed to mention how recent the development was compared to his time dancing at this studio. He did not want to think about what Jean’s diminishing presence in her own lessons might mean. Or how this past school year she had seemed to age forty years in his absence. Or how he would have to leave her alone next school year as well. 

“ _You_?” Granger questioned.

“Me,” he barked and strode toward the barre. She joined him shortly after, mimicking his motions in silence. Draco eyed her legs as they left the barre and worked through the positions. “Jean is not going to like your lack of holes,” he commented.

“ _Excuse me_!?” Granger snapped.

“You heard me,” Draco replied easily. “And it was only a warning to brace yourself, Granger. If I wanted to insult you I would ask how you managed to get all your hair in that bun.”

Granger surprised Draco by laughing. “Lotion,” she said, and Draco made a face. “Sorry. I’ve had problems with other dancers before,” she went on to share, and copied Draco as he added in a few pliés to their routine.

Draco didn’t know what to say. “I also wouldn’t pick something that I, too, am failing at,” Draco further explained even though he didn’t have to. 

“Huh?”

“My leg line, Granger!” Draco spat and pulled her closer to the mirror, so he could point. “One gap has all but disappeared!”

“But . . . Malfoy,” she said and furrowed her brow. “You are a boy. I don’t think -- I mean, you can’t help having a penis.”

“Ugh! This conversation is officially over!” he declared and pulled her away to work on body positions. 

They reached the end of the lesson and Jean still hadn’t returned, though Granger was breaking a sweat and looked satisfied. Draco normally wouldn’t disrupt Jean, but he wasn’t sure he could teach Granger the healing spells correctly. After all, she was Granger, and Draco wasn’t about to put himself in a position in which she could mock him - not after that penis comment especially. 

He found the old witch lying on her chaise, eyes closed. “Jean?” he asked quietly, and she opened them. “Granger needs healing spells.” 

She nodded. “Give me a few moments.” 

Draco went back and found Granger to be unusually flustered. “Will I get in trouble?” she seemed to blurt out. “You know, for healing myself with magic?”

Draco could only blink at her for a moment as he pondered her sudden lack of foresight. He opened his mouth, closed it, and finally spoke something that he totally hadn’t meant to say out loud, “how do you keep people out of your home?”

“Excuse me?”

“No. I just mean, without wards?” Draco scrunched his brow. “Do you just have a bunch of locks?”

It was Granger’s turn to blink at him. “Are you . . . making fun of me this time?”

“What? No!” protested Draco, and then realized that he’d wasted a perfectly good chance to do just that. “I am only curious, Granger,” he continued in a haughty manner. “I have heard muggles are quite violent, especially while drunk. _My father_ \--”

Granger suddenly cut him off with a giggle. “No, I’m sorry. It is just so jarring to think about things from a different perspective sometimes,” she claimed. 

“Are you going to answer my question or not?” Draco snapped. 

She sighed. “Locks work perfectly fine for my family. We live in a good neighborhood, which helps, I suppose. We only had a break in once when I was very little, and nobody had been home. My father has been considering getting one of these recently developed ‘security systems’ that sense the doors and windows using a digital monitor.”

“Right,” said Draco, and scowled as he bit his tongue to keep from asking any more questions. 

“Could you answer my question now, do you think?”

“Probably.” Draco shrugged. “There _are_ channels you could go through in which to get permission, I’m sure, but it would be easiest to do all your healing at the studio. Jean obviously has the proper wards up as I have never had trouble using magic here before.”

“I quite agree,” Jean said as she strolled in and proceeded to show Granger the spells. Once Granger’s feet were healed, Jean asked her to stand in front of the barre for inspection and Draco somehow felt nervous for Granger even though she was a mudblood and in cohorts with his ~~supposed~~ enemy. 

Jean eyed her speculatively for a long moment before speaking. “You will not cut your hair above your shoulders and you will manage a decent leg line within the next three months. These will be deciding factors in whether or not you can make it here, understand?”

Granger’s eyes briefly flickered to Draco and back before she nodded. 

A few days later Draco still felt perplexed by his unorthodox meeting with Granger, but he also felt a little better in general, thinking he and his father were going to get away once more with their lie. Of course, this was when everything went to dragon dung. 

One night his mother hadn't come for supper and his father had sent him to bed straight after finishing his own. Curious, Draco grabbed his invisibility cloak and went to spy on his parents. He found them in the black cabinets, his mother’s secret room. The wall passageway was locked, though he could still hear raised voices within. Draco bit his lip, looked to his own bare toes then quietly shuffled away and called Linky to bring him his boots. He stepped with them on and finally he was inside. 

They were both standing. His mother had the journal under a spell, floating in the air between them. "Do you really not have anything else to say for yourself?" his mother was hissing.

His father gave a bitter laugh. "I realize I made a huge mistake, but do not go and get all high and mighty acting like you haven’t hidden just as many dark objects around this place."

"Yes, but he has yet to find one of mine."

His father glared harder and, even ten paces away, Draco nearly pissed himself from the force of it. His mother only rolled her eyes and asked, "well . . . what _is_ it, Lucius? What would have happened had you been foolish enough to let your own son keep this thing for any longer?"

His father didn't answer. His mother banished the journal and cast a silencing charm on the room, but it didn't matter as Draco was already stood inside it when the magic passed the threshold. 

"Lucius, I swear on the great and noble name of Black," his mother started coolly, "if you do not tell me what this thing is in the next five seconds I will gut you or die in the process. Do not even try and lie to me. I have already used _mendacibus ardensis_ on this room and you will die a slow and painful death if one lie comes from your mouth."

"You dare to use that spell against me?" His father was suddenly shouting louder than Draco had ever heard. "You have some nerve, Narcissa, to imply that _I_ would try and lie to _you_."

"When it comes to Draco's life, I would never lie to you. Besides," his mother spat, "you were the one who taught it to me, were you not?" 

His father grew even tenser. "You know what? Fine. It is not my fault your little _friend_ somehow managed to teach my heir bloody occlumency without my knowledge! Let alone my consent! It is only coincidence that Draco managed to find something of mine instead of yours and you know it! But I will give you what you want, Narcissa,” his father laughed darkly. “Reason to hate me: it is a horcrux.”

His mother’s eyes widened, the words seeming to strike her bloodless on the spot. “Without me . . ?” she murmured softly and Draco’s father flinched.

“No, Narcissa, you misunderstand,” his father answered just as quietly. “It is _his_ horcrux--”

“Crucio!” his mother shouted, her fury had suddenly clogged the room again, and his father fell under the strong curse, tense on the floor. He stood as soon as she relented. 

“Do you feel better now?” his father bit out. 

“No. Crucio!” she yelled again, and the same thing happened. 

“I can do this all night!” his father shouted, standing tall once more. 

This seemed to make his mother pause, and Draco couldn’t help but notice how the crazy look in her eye grew cold and hard. “I know,” she said and raised her wand again. 

“Sectemsempra!” his mother swiftly hissed out the curse, and Draco watched as his father fell, blood squirting from his chest. Draco stood, horrified, as his mother walked to the floo, called Snape and just . . . left the room. Draco couldn't move a muscle as the shape of the slashes flashed and flashed through his mind - a sideways _Z_ , a condensed _lightning bolt_ , or . . . a perfect _N_. Draco couldn’t even breathe. He didn't know what to do. He had too much going through his mind, and then before he could move Snape was appearing with an angry crack. 

Snape's eyes widened as he saw Draco’s father on the floor, but he wasted no time starting to heal him. Draco didn't reveal himself, not sure if he should. He might just get himself obliviated and this was something that he did not want to forget. 

Draco was more like his mother, in that his father had no problem taking risks. He even found the betting pools the house elves had going to be humorous, when Draco's mother swore they only encouraged stealing and therefore beating. His mother was always thinking before she acted and not saying much, which was why the scene before Draco baffled him to such a high extent. 

Although the thought of being like his own mother was kind of scaring Draco now. 

“What have you done this time, Lucius?” Snape asked once the bleeding had stopped. Draco gaped, not believing Snape could be blaming his father for any of this. 

“Do not even speak to me, you bloody filthy fucking bird!” his father hissed, and Draco’s eyes widened, having only heard his father use such language one other time. “This is all _your_ fault!” his father continued and tried to sit up but was forced back into place by Snape’s hands on his shoulders. 

“Do not move, Lucius,” Snape snapped. “She hasn’t gone very deep it seems, but there still might be a chance of scarring if we do not do this correctly.”

His father fell still but glared all the harder. “This is all your fault. I’m going to end you if I have one mark, Severus.”

“You should be happy to be alive,” his godfather pointed out. 

His father rolled his eyes. “Like she would kill me.”

Snape raised an eyebrow. Suddenly, his mother strode back into the room, and she poured a thick, black potion over his father’s chest. Steam rose from the wounds and his father screamed for the first time all night, but moments later the wounds were gone, and a row of uneven, angry red scars were left in their place. 

"Seriously," his father hissed. "Just had to mark me, you Gods awful sadist." 

"I've had an idea," his mother announced, ignoring him, and they all proceeded to right themselves and take a seat at the table like nothing was wrong. His father took the time to scourgify all the blood away and mend his own robes. 

"Does this mean I'm forgiven?" his father asked once he’d gotten comfortable. 

"Hardly. I have decided to give you another chance though, if only because I need you to carry out my plan to rid the world of Voldemort . . . once again." 

His mother sounded exasperated, but completely serious. Draco gaped in her direction, and wondered if she’d gone crazy for saying such a thing in front of his father--

"Of course,” was his father’s reply--his father _the ex-Death Eater_ \--and he sounded genuine as well. 

"Can I go?" Snape asked, he’d seemingly just realized that he wasn't in trouble and stood to leave, looking like he'd suddenly be anywhere else. 

"Severus, please, sit.” His mother’s voice was sickly sweet. “We could use your help. Honestly." 

"No. His help is what got us into this mess!" Draco’s father protested at once. 

Narcissa’s eyes shot to Snape again and she said, "thank you for reminding me, Lucius. Sit, Severus, or I promise I will do you worse than I did my husband for that one."

Snape sat but still protested, "I did nothing wrong." 

Draco's father suddenly started to laugh. Under the cloak, Draco was as startled as Snape seemed. "You were bluffing," his father said to his mother.

"I might not be next time; can we move on?" She clicked her tongue in reply. 

"Yes." Both men spoke at once.

"But first," his father began, and his mother gave a resigned sigh, "explain yourself, Severus," he demanded as he turned toward the wizard in question. 

"I waited as long as I could, Lucius, honestly . . . I thought you would have tried at least before sending him off in a world full of unknown legilimens having his head stuffed with the things that it is."

"What things?" his father asked, seeming affronted.

"Our animagus forms for one, which we have somehow managed to keep a secret since we were at Hogwarts!" snapped Snape.

"Like it was hard," his mother threw in.

The men glared at her, both having had to obliviate several people for the sake of their forms, Draco knew, he'd read that in the journal they’d given him before first year. 

"The point is, it was worth the risk," his father started. "You think that somehow bypassed my awareness, Severus? That we would be showing a little weakness?"

"Well, I wasn't willing to take that risk--"

"Because you are a selfish bastard--"

"And you are an arrogant--"

"Boys," his mother said coolly. "I will do this by myself if I have to."

“Fine,” his father now sighed as the resigned one. “Tell me what you are thinking, Narcissa.”

Draco's mother seemed to sit up straighter, even as she had been perfectly straight before. “We have this thing destroyed as soon as we possibly can,” she said firmly. She waved her wand and the journal materialized before them. Another quick flick and the thing disappeared. 

“And just how do you suggest we do that?” Snape asked, eyes wide. He had obviously recognized the object for what it was. Though Draco still wasn’t clear on that front. “We would risk bringing down the whole manor if we tried that here. I still cannot figure out how Potter managed it with Quirrell. Dumbledore has been spouting his usual love conquers all mess.”

Draco found himself gaping once again. Had his parents known what was going on with Quirrell as well? He had figured Snape had his big nose in it somehow, but he’d never suspected his parents might know. He contemplated revealing himself and telling his guardians about Em and the staff, but quickly realized that would lead to questions he couldn’t answer, as it would break one of the rules he’d given himself to never speak of the dragon. He felt that rule was still important for some reason.

"So, you also knew this thing was in my home, did you, Severus?" his mother asked, snapping Draco back to their conversation. 

Snape seemed to think over his next words carefully. "Maybe," he muttered at last. 

Draco's mother began to hiss without saying anything articulate. 

“I say,” his father cut in, “we throw it in the ocean and be done with it.”

“Yes,” his mother bit out her next words. “So, one of the other Death Eaters can summon it anytime they’d like.”

“We are the only ones who know . . ?” Snape drawled. “It could easily disappear in a trench halfway across the world.”

“We aren’t though, are we? Dumbledore knows just as much as we do, doesn’t he, Severus?” his mother asked coolly. “Anyone could know now. We cannot begin assuming such things like loyalty."

“But--” Snape started only to have his mother cut him off. 

“No. It is a possessed item, or have you forgotten? Who's to say it won't appear right back on Draco's nightstand the second we let it out of my magic’s grasp?" 

“ _But_ ,” his father spoke firmly, “didn’t your dear cousin get himself killed trying to destroy something much similar? Like Severus said, it is unknown how Potter managed it, but I am guessing it had something to do with the potency of the soul, and the Dark Lord had most-likely been three times stronger when he made this one.”

“Well, you see, my love . . .” his mother drawled, seeming to breathe out her anger. “I have this plan. It’s really quite brilliant if you two would only shut your mouths long enough for me to speak.” When neither male spoke again, his mother continued. “I want it gone tomorrow, but I also want it destroyed. So, I give you compromise. 

“Now I ask you gentlemen, why do it when we can have those less fortunate do it for us? And why, for that matter, should we trust just any poor sod with the task? When we have the perfect tool at our disposal . . . with only a minimal amount of manipulation, I promise, Severus. It will really be like taking candy from a baby.”

Draco watched, fascinated, as both his father's excitement and his godfather's horror grew steadily throughout her speech. 

“Oh Gods, Narcissa, this is serious, isn’t?” Snape muttered, pinching his brow. "You're serious, aren't you?"

“You are talking about possibly bringing back a war, my love,” his father said, sounding rather faint yet his expression showed his intrigue. “Who could you trust with such a thing?”

“Why . . . who does the whole wizarding world trust with such a thing?" His mother had her brows raised high and used her arms to form wide gestures, clearly putting on a show for the two men. "Who is it that stands for everything Gryffindor and Dumbledore and light?” she asked them.

Both men simultaneously raised their eyebrows back at her. "Not Potter . . ." they muttered and were so distracted they didn't even get mad at each other for accidentally saying the same thing.

Narcissa grinned evilly but shook her head. “The Weasleys, of course, little weapons in disguise that they make themselves.” 

“No,” Snape snarled, unheard.

“Oh, yes,” Draco’s father chuckled the same instant. 

Then his father was rounding the table, pulled his mother in for a huge kiss--it was the first time Draco had ever seen them kiss, he realized this in a state of strong disgust and fascination--and took both Snape and his mother by the hand and led them out of the room. His mother only smiled fondly. Apparently more than happy to let her husband handle her plan from there on out. 

Draco stood there a moment after his guardians took their leave, trying to process all that had just occurred. Suddenly a noise startled him from his thoughts. Draco blinked and watched Dobby, one of his father’s elves, slip out of a wardrobe. The elf made to leave but Draco revealed himself and grabbed the creature. 

After a freak out of mass proportions, in which Dobby attempted to brain himself on the table, Draco finally managed to get the thing to shut its Gods-awfully loud trap.

“Dobby,” Draco hissed, shaking the little body in his grip. “Kindly cease moving and squeaking this very instant.”

The elf froze.

“Good.” Draco placed the jelly-legged elf on his bum. “Now, you may breathe, but if you get us caught in here, I swear to the Gods that not even my father will be able to save you. I will . . . will . . . stab you to death, Dobby!”

Dobby began to breathe. 

Draco regarded the creature, wondering what he should do. His father hated Dobby because Dobby wasn’t really like the other Malfoy elves; he always spilled things or started crying at the worst times, and he never could learn how to speak correctly, which made him a bad influence on Draco. However, his father would never condone Draco stabbing one of his house elves like a drunken muggle would.

His mother loved the little guy. Probably because Dobby was easy prey though, not because she trusted him Draco was starting to realize.

“What were you doing in here, Dobby?” he asked, slow and thoughtful as to slightly scare the creature. 

“Dobby be spying, master Draco, sir,” Dobby stated so quietly that Draco could barely hear and went back to his steady breathing. Draco raised an eyebrow, perhaps there was another reason his mother liked this elf and loathed every other Malfoy one. Namely it was clear Dobby didn’t listen to a thing his father said. 

“What were you hoping to do with this information, Dobby?”

“Well, master Draco, sir, Dobby be wanting to help. Dobby is knowing bad, bad thing and be wanting to escape--”

“Are you insane!?” Draco shrieked quietly. “And just what will you do after that, Dobby? You will have nowhere to go, I hope you realize . . .”

“Dobby is not being scared, master Draco, sir. He is not," said Dobby, though he had begun to tremble again. 

“Why?” Draco couldn’t help but ask. 

“Bad things will be happening if Dobby is being a scared elf.”

“You mean, you know what they were talking about?” Draco questioned, finally grasping on to the importance of what Dobby was saying. "What that journal was?" 

“Enough, master Draco, sir.” The elf nodded. “Dobby be knowing enough.” 

Draco had to think quickly. “Listen,” he said, the words coming to him as he thought of them. "I think I could make you a deal, Dobby, that will keep everyone safe. Including you. I just need some time to work it out." 

"What is you thinking, master Draco?" 

"Master Draco be thinking that he and Dobby can solve each other's problems," Draco coughed a bit, realizing himself. "If you run and warn the Weasleys, that could be being bad for father and you, Dobby. However, the Weasleys aren't really important in the grand scheme of things, are they? No. We be needing -- we need to focus on one wizard in particular if we hope to save anybody."

"Who, master Draco?"

Draco smiled.

"Harry _Potter_."

Draco failed to mention that this plan gained himself more spoils than anyone else - literally if the dragon might reward him for his genius. 


	3. The Chamber of Secrets

Draco was lying in bed; he had just worked up the nerve to even contemplate a trip toward the library. He needed to shed some light on what his parents were up to and before he went crazy from lack of sleep, he thought, when a sudden knocking startled him out of bed and onto the floor.

“Come in already then!” hissed Draco, once he was righted on the bed with his legs neatly crossed. 

It was only Wayne, his father’s favorite elf who was a complete prick. Draco rolled his eyes and contemplated tossing a pillow at the smug elf just for the fun of it. 

“Master Malfoy wanted me to find you, young master Draco,” the elf announced. “Ms. Jean is again requesting the young master.”

Draco felt relieved. Between his own and Granger’s lessons, Draco had managed to thoroughly distract himself from the impending doom he knew lurked. Two hours and a floo trip later, Draco found himself speculatively eying Granger as he stalked a tight circle around her still form. 

“Arabesque from first,” he commanded dispassionately, nose in the air.

She did so, and it was beautiful. This did not change the fact that the line of her legs was still lacking.

“Granger,” he started, a sneer across his face, “it has been two weeks. I do not think you have gotten any better.”

She growled at him and held her position, one leg gracefully stretched out behind her.

“Touchy. Woah. Okay,” Draco said and rolled his eyes. “Perhaps we should talk about your diet then.”

“Let’s talk about yours,” she sneered back at him, suddenly falling into a position Draco had never heard of before - held demi bras with her leg still out behind, bent to ninety degrees at the knee. “You aren’t a girl, Malfoy, and you are never going to be able to lift anyone with a figure like that. Why isn’t Ms. Jean on you about it?”

“Because I am clearly solo Ballarino material, Granger.” Draco chuckled. “Obviously.”

“Right.”

“Look,” Draco sighed. “I have no desire to pas de deux with you if that is what you are getting at.” 

She snorted. “I’m sure you don’t,” she said, fell out of position, and came to a rest with one foot held delicately on top of the other. “Either way. I like my body and I am more than capable of being a partner to someone. You are not.”

“You like your body? Oh, Gods, Granger.” Draco shook his head. “Nobody likes their body. That is your first problem.”

“You don’t like your body?” Granger had her brows raised. 

“Well, of course, I am an exception to most ideals as I easily exceed them. And I have a better leg line than you do, so . . .”

“A leg line that you shouldn’t have.”

“Whatever, Granger. Keep telling yourself that.”

The next day, Draco was bored out of his mind with no hope of an extra lesson. His father was doing something in the library so Draco couldn’t even pretend to research if he wanted to. Still mad at his Godfather, Draco was avoiding his potions lab and the book hidden inside Linky’s keeper. 

Draco was avoiding his mother as well, but that was easy as his mother generally kept to herself. 

Linky and Dobby were both helping prepare the manor for Draco’s birthday party or he would have made one of them occupy him.

Sighing, Draco rounded the corner and strolled into the expansive blue corridor. He hadn’t spoken to Owen since last Christmas when the man revealed that he had once been a Potter before marrying into the Malfoy family. Owen snored as Draco approached his portrait. 

“Owen!” Draco shouted, and the man woke with a violent jerk that nearly pushed him into a neighboring frame. “How are you?” Draco asked, all innocence. 

“Suddenly glad I fell in love with another man and never had a chance to create an annoying little creature like you,” quipped Owen, rather quick-witted for a man who was still wiping the drool from his chin.

“Aw, don’t be grumpy,” Draco pouted. “I missed you.”

“Draco do not think I haven’t noticed you have been home for over two weeks.”

“Fine,” Draco sighed. “I am simply bored. Tell me a story.”

Silence. 

“Please?”

“Oh, alright.” Owen rolled his eyes but continued. “You remember my husband? Narcissus Malfoy. Well, he was named after someone the ancient Greek’s believed to be the son of the River God, Cephissus. Narcissus was known for his beauty. As the story goes . . .”

Draco listened eagerly until Linky fetched him for supper. 

As he was drifting to sleep that night, a sleepy thought crossed through Draco’s mind. Maybe . . . Narcissus was trapped in . . . just like . . . Draco would ask Owen tomorrow . . . probably. 

With that, Draco fell asleep. 

A few days later Draco was coming from the cloud room when he noticed the sound of Snape’s robe as it was dramatically whipped around Snape’s angry form. It was a very distinct noise Draco would not soon forget. After retrieving his cloak and boots, Draco stepped around a few places his guardians usually took tea. 

Having no luck, Draco pushed down the sick feeling in his gut and stepped. The three Slytherins were tucked away in the black cabinets again. An eerie chill overtook Draco as he processed the room around him. He didn’t think any of the black rooms would ever feel comforting again. 

“Where is Draco?” Snape was asking while simultaneously casting a silencing charm. Draco quickly stepped all the way into the room despite the unwelcoming atmosphere. 

“Off playing in his little potions lab, I’m sure,” his mother replied, eyes narrowed.

“He is in the cloud room,” his father corrected. 

“Well . . .” his mother made a get on with it gesture and raised her brows. “You told me you have finally decided on a course of action.”

“We have,” Snape sighed, “you are not going to like it, but we fear it is the only way to accomplish your wishes.”

“We have reason to believe,” his father quickly took over, “that Draco was somehow involved with the Potter-Destroying-the-Dark-Lord-Once-Again incident.”

Draco’s blood froze in his veins, but his father continued. “We do not know how, but what else could have completely obliterated the protection he had placed on him - specifically to ward him away and from the possession of any nearby pieces of the Dark Lord? The same ones I have placed on all of us, which still stand strong? I may be a lot of things, Narcissa, but what have you two always trusted me with?”

“Amalgamating the integrals,” Narcissa answered--at the same time Snape replied-- 

“Hoarding the treasure.”

His father grinned but quickly sobered. “As much as I would like to disregard the notion, I cannot. Draco had something to do with the ordeal. It should not be physically possible--”

“We are not going back to that same, old argument,” his mother hissed, drawing her wand.

“But the _nature_ of the spell--” Draco’s father tried--while Snape drawled--

“You _know_ how dark magic works--”

A flick of her wand and his mother silenced them both with an apple stuffed in their mouths. 

“That old spell binds magicks, not beings,” his mother said soundly. “It binds the power, not the heart.”

Snape and his father sighed after his father had waved his wand and vanished the fruits. 

“Nevertheless,” his father continued easily. “Draco should be able to withstand possession if--”

“You want to let the thing loose in Hogwarts,” his mother guessed before he could finish, and Draco’s father nodded once, curt as could be. 

“We need only look at the fault in Severus’ initial resolution to determine what we have to do,” his father explained, even though Draco had the feeling his mother was now ten steps ahead all on her own. “There is only one way to ensure the Gryffindors do not disregard it or do as he would have done and chucked it into the high sea - or,” here his father paused to chuckle, “Gods forbid, simply attempted to break its curse.” 

His mother sighed, and, to Draco’s surprise, she looked grave at the prospect of what she said next. “You intend to give it to the little witch then,” she drawled. “Ginevra.”

“No,” Snape hissed as Draco’s father nodded sharply. 

“What?” Snape snapped as he looked back and forth between Draco’s parents with narrowed eyes. “We discussed why Percy and the twins were out, but I assumed from there you would have chosen the most obvious answer: Ron Weasley.”

“You would see Draco--” his mother started only to have Snape cut her off. 

“You yourself just said the spell binds magic, not heart, Narcissa,” Snape said, his tone rather patronizing. 

“You would see Draco as a squib all because you couldn’t handle to make a logical decision over one your pitiful gut is aching about?” she finished.

“What I believe Narcissa is trying to say, Severus, is that Ronald Weasley dorms with Harry Potter, does he not? That is one sure way to involve the Potter boy in this plan when we could easily avoid the unnecessary risk toward Draco altogether. For, if our assumptions are correct, this piece of Lord Voldemort would not know anything about Harry Potter. The threat should not directly harm Potter, and Dumbledore, if he has a shred of decency left, will be forced to play his hand without his wild card.”

“But . . . why?” Severus sneered. “Why even risk it? We know now that Potter destroyed a Horcrux-like person—or thing—without draining either of their powers.”

“Did he really though? Are we certain Dumbledore did not give Potter another tool that could aid in controlling soul magic?” Draco’s father smirked wider and wider as he spoke. “Can you not see, Severus? Truly beyond your love of all things redheaded, womanly and weak?” Snape began to growl, but his father continued over the offending noise. “I have put actual thought into this, you know. I did not spend the entirety of the past weeks lollygagging around like a drunken muggle. We have to watch our own backs now more than ever, and there is only one solution I could come up with that will keep the light side from considering this a direct attack on the Potter boy.”

“Surely giving it to a different Weasley is not going to protect us should the truth of the matter come out,” Snape sneered, but even Draco could hear the consideration in his voice. 

“Which is why I have spent the past week . . . _persuading_ a certain member of the Wizengamot into accepting that Gods awful Muggle Protection Act.” 

“Bribed, obliviated, _and_ imperiused?” His mother’s tone was steel, she seemed to be watching his father’s back. However, for the life of him, Draco couldn’t fathom what that combination could ever possibly be used for. 

“But of course,” his father replied, smug. “We have a sufficient reason to appeal to the lives of the Weasels now. People will suspect I knew what I was doing--that I deliberately went about a way to bring my master back--but I can at least have the security of playing dumb. Once I make a few more stops, that is. I need one more month for the act to be placed into motion, Narcissa, and some time for a few appearances in Knockturn Alley.” 

His mother nodded sharply. “I can live with that. However, Severus will continue to house the thing. Do I make myself clear, Lucius? You will not be making friends with this part of the Dark Lord.”

“Oh, you wound me, dear,” his father drawled. “Can you not have a bit of faith in your husband?”

Draco’s mother only raised her brow thoughtfully.

Yes . . . Draco needed to figure out what was going on as soon as possible. When he was finally able to step into his room, Draco paced for a moment before steeling himself.

“Dobby,” he called and waited until the elf appeared with a nervous crack. “We have some more work to do.” 


	4. The Heart of the Issue

Dobby and Draco were well on their way to Azkaban, or where ever bad, bad elves were sent. Still in it for the prize, Draco was unfazed and, Dobby, well, the house elf was in it merely because he was a moronic Hufflepuff gone Gryffindor hybrid all wrapped up in a wrinkly little package.

Draco had contemplated murdering him at least twice every day for the past two weeks. However, Dobby was more useful to him alive than dead at this point he figured, and the elf had managed to keep quiet about what they were up to. The house elf had fulfilled his part in Draco’s plan perfectly so far. Only, the past few nights, Draco had been trying to teach him the art of dramatics to no avail whatsoever. 

“Dobby,” Draco started stridently, “you are being worse than Granger at hiding your bloody emotions! Look,” he amended as the creature began to tear up again, “be cutting out the awful cry. Dobby can be doing soon enough!” Draco sighed and calmed himself. “It is only acting. People _have been doing_ it for years. I be--I accomplish _ed_ it the day I was born!”

Yes, Draco thought, he should never try to comfort a human being, but his pitiful effort seemed to have some effect on Dobby the horrible house elf. “Master Draco really be thinking that?” he wanted to know. 

“I do,” Draco lied to both Dobby and himself. “And your failure wouldn’t matter so much if we had more time. Look, we can be done for today, but you are going to help Linky and I with our search again tonight, okay, Dobby?”

The house elf nodded, and indeed was already next to Linky later that night, tugging on his own ears as Draco blinked awake from the lady elf’s snapping. 

“We can be going now, Master Draco,” Linky whispered and Draco gulped. The three of them had taken several late-night strolls around the manor already and Draco was sure they were bound to be caught (if they weren’t eaten by something (or dismembered by a cursed object). First, they’d searched the library and discovered very little about “Horcruxes.” Draco had then decided to search through the secret rooms, as some of the ones he had found before housed special-looking books (evil spirits not included). Now they were looking for new rooms because none of the ones he knew about ended up having anything of importance that Draco could tell. 

A few hours later, Draco admitted the night to be mostly fruitless. However, they had found a new room, it had just been empty. Draco added it to his map and went back to bed.

The next evening, Draco was once again attempting to teach Dobby how to act. 

“See here, Dobby,” Draco was explaining. “Potter . . . Potter, he has these sorts of . . . _afflictions_. He hates being called a freak, I know that. Just . . . look, let us worry about what you shouldn’t say, okay? That is most important.” It really wasn’t . . .

Dobby nodded.

Draco sighed and thought for a moment. “Well, basically tell him everything . . .”

“Everything?” the house elf squeaked. 

“Well, not everything. Just the essentials. However, I forbid you to mention the Malfoys, any of us. I forbid you to mention the details of what the Horcrux will do or what it is if you are somehow still hiding that knowledge from me or we find out. Just say a bad, bad thing is coming for Hogwarts. I am sure Potter will be pleased with an extended vacation. He isn’t much for studying, I’ve noticed, more for space-staring.”

Dobby was quiet for a minute before he opened his mouth wide and let out a long spiel. “Dobby be thinking Harry Potter is wanting to escape his home. Harry Potter is being a very sad, sad boy, master Draco, sir. Dobby be seeing him the once when Dobby be letting a letter get too close. Harry Potter is a sad, sad little wizard, Dobby be seeing it!”

“That is potentially useful information, Dobby, be continuing up on that as we proceed,” Draco ordered, feeling suddenly, stupidly hopeful. “For now, it tells us all you need to do is play up the tormented and woebegone, brave little warrior routine to its fullest potential. Basically just, well . . . just be being yourself, Dobby. It is only Harry Potter whose underpants reach his belly button.”

Dobby blinked.

“Hey, do not look at me like that! It is not my fault if the kid chooses to wear those stupid muggle clothes sometimes and then proceeds to have pants that won’t stay down and trousers that won’t stay up!”

“Yes, master Draco, sir, of course!” Dobby nodded solemnly, and Draco sighed. 

The days began to pass in a blurry routine. Draco was constantly sore and tired. Sore from seemingly endless practice for his upcoming recital, and tired from staying up late into the night and searching for answers. Draco started sleeping in, which caused him to miss his usual morning reading time. Although he was forgoing Auror Pendragon’s adventures, Draco found having one of his own was just as stimulating. Even if his companions were house elves. 

During the day when he wasn’t at Jean’s studio, Draco found time to draw, work on his casting, and practice divination. Ever since he used tea leaves to help him solve Snape’s riddle, Draco was reminded of his talent in the area. He might not be the best at hair charms, but his Black blood ensured he was excellent in all areas of divination. 

The number of Seers documented in the Black family line is more than any other pureblood family in history. So when Draco grew frustrated with his spells and charm work, he could always calm himself by turning to a soothing leaf reading.

Another week passed before something knocked Draco out of his routine. Unfortunately, it wasn't the answer he'd been searching for. 

Draco was huddled with Linky and Dobby under the invisibility cloak when a noise was heard. Two seconds later the frozen trio was revealed to the dark hallway and Draco saw his father standing with the cloak in his grasp, eyebrows raised. 

Draco fought to make his mind as clear as possible for everything except blind panic as he had already met his father’s eyes long enough to be invaded. 

“You are certainly talented, my son. I wonder why it is you can exceed so greatly in some aspects of magic and not in others . . .”

His father seemed genuinely curious, but Draco couldn’t process what that could mean beyond his crushing embarrassment and real panic. So, he snapped, a bit, “yes, and it is a wonder why I am unable to properly communicate with another human being.”

His father frowned. Draco wanted to suck the words back inside himself and let the acid in his stomach melt them away. 

“What are you doing sneaking about this late, Draco?” his father asked, face blank.

“I was looking for a book.”

“Yes . . .” his father prompted.

“One with old spells, you know, the _good_ stuff.”

“Yes . . .”

“To sabotage Harry Potter’s chances of beating me in Quidditch this year.”

“False memories are an impressive feat, Draco, but yours need some work,” his father informed.

“To make Granger as stupid as--”

“Try again . . .”

Draco sighed, no other lie came to mind. “To . . . to do something about this,” Draco thought about his biggest problem. Bigger than Horcruxes, manic mothers, or horrible house elves. Next time he would make certain to layer his reasoning as much as possible before getting caught. 

“Ah . . .”

Ten minutes later, Draco was in the green study. He didn’t bother with anything fancy this time, just gated in every one of his thoughts. His father thrust a glass of water into his hand and Draco took a sip. He couldn't speak first, he knew that would be silly, but he wanted to say he loved his father then. He couldn't say that though. His father would only think he was groveling or something. Draco would sound so idiotic. Plus, his father might figure out he’d sort of been lying.

"I am going to miss knowing what you are truly thinking," his father commented, ice and milk for himself. Draco sneered slightly at the combination, as it was horrid. "You are not the easiest child to please, let alone understand, Draco. I had figured you'd grow up at some point though, and I suppose in a way you have." 

"I do not know what to say, father," Draco took another drink. “Did you not see something like this coming?”

Draco’s father ignored the question. "You kissed Harry Potter." 

"Well, you know," replied Draco, half a gesture given. 

"No, actually." Draco cringed. "Son, I just _want_ to know. I do not . . . I do not care, okay. Yes. I don't." 

His father sounded so peculiar. Draco wanted to crawl under his chair. 

" _That_ is _not_ what you said before." 

"I believe those were extraneous circumstances. You happened to be _experimenting_ with your cousin. Who is three years older than you and should have known better." His father sighed. “You were always so smart and interested in learning new things, yet . . . the _situation_ took me by surprise.”

"I do not like girls,” Draco said, as he slouched further into his large leather chair. Draco didn't feel smart. 

Draco felt . . . 

Odd. 

His father scowled at him and gestured at his slumping form. "Now, we will keep up propriety, Draco . . . and I hope you do not think this acceptance will keep you from your obligations to this family . . ."

Draco sagged in his chair and let his father rant. When Draco was finally dismissed, he all but ran for the door only stopping when he heard his father’s voice. 

“Oh, and Draco,” his father said. “You must have put that cloak to good use these past three weeks. The charms are already beginning to wear. On Sunday I will show you how to fix it. Perhaps you will even be allowed to bring it with you to Hogwarts this year.”/

Despite the awkward situation, Draco beamed at him. “Thank you, father.”


End file.
